Originally published December 3, 2014 / Reposted March 2023

One Friday evening, (10/10/2014) Christian Fracchia gave a presentation at the Mohonk Preserve Visitor's Center on the topic of climbing at Millbrook. Always considered one of the major climbing areas in the Gunks, Millbrook is also probably the least visited. An intimidating, looming wall of conglomerate a few miles south of the more popular Trapps, Millbrook is the type of cliff that gets talked about more than it is climbed (notwithstanding local Rich Romano, who quietly established most of the routes in the '70s and '80s). With a reputation for bold, difficult climbing, it's no wonder that few climbers leave the comfort and convenience of the carriage road to test their mettle at one of the East's premier adventure climbing venues.

Christian did an excellent job during his slideshow of shedding some light on the history of climbing at Millbrook, without giving away its secrets. Christian was a big part in helping me "normalize" climbing at Millbrook. He gave me an orientation of the cliff, pointed out significant routes, told me which pitches were well protected and which were dangerous. He introduced me to the relative ease of biking there from Lake Minnewaska. I watched him huck a portaledge over the side on a fixed rope and photograph his friends while hanging the ledge from a tiny black Alien, laughing and cheering them on. His comfort there, gained over hundreds of days, relaxed me and hinted that it was okay to stick my neck out once in a while.

But, as I'm sure Christian would agree, there is another side to Millbrook that starts to show itself when you step over the edge to rappel in, or take off on lead. You and your partner become quiet, and the banter quickly dies off; you try to get a glimpse of the climbing ahead, but it is obscured by a roof or corner nearby. In many ways it symbolizes what I love about the East in general: nothing is obvious, nothing is on display. Unlike the American West, where big features are visible from miles around, shallow terrain and vegetation disguise our paths and desires. I can only get snippets of where I am and what surrounds me, and they are always changing with the angle and season I am viewing them from. The greater picture is only a mosaic of small fragments.

The funny thing about Millbrook is that even though you're still in the Gunks (less than three miles as the crow flies from the crowded Uberfall), you often get the sense you're at some strange cliff in a far-off region. There are still the familiar pitch pines, occasional in-cut "Thank God" jugs, views of Skytop. But then there are other sensations, strange and haunting. What would be a reliable horizontal crack in the Trapps is twisted and morphed at Millbrook, and can be polished slick or filled with rotten shale. Countless times I've looked around mid-pitch to find a raven or peregrine flying by slowly behind me, keeping watch. Faint memories of surreal moments and sights are recalled only once the route is completed. A blue jay's head, removed from its body, waiting on the jug at the end of a runout. Feeling your rope drag over a razor-sharp corner. Pockets and heucos packed with quartz crystals, clear as glass. A rooster crowing in the distance, a call from idyllic valley life far below.  Once, high above my last piece and trying to paste myself into a steep corner, I placed a tiny cam in a large flake to my left. It looked good, and I yanked down hard on it to reassure myself that it was solid. The flake groaned and sank a half-inch. I realized my right hand was depending on the same flake when the hold shook. Fine grains of sand fell out from behind it as I retreated.

I've watched thunderstorms beeline for Millbrook and consume it in darkness, and I've seen the only rays of sunshine illuminate the white face while the rest of the ridge is socked in clouds. Rare orchids bloom and then vanish in the talus field below, and peregrine falcons scream at trespassing humans. No trails lead to the base or around the sides; guidebook descriptions are vague and incomplete. It seems that Millbrook continuously shrugs off our desires for understanding and reliability, and requires only that we show up and pay attention to its fleeting stories.

With all this in mind, and fresh inspiration from Friday night's slideshow, I went out to Millbrook on October 13th with Wade. We parked at Minnewaska and rode in on mountain bikes, which takes twenty to thirty minutes with packs on. Wade had never climbed at Millbrook before, and I was eager to share a place that meant so much to me with a friend.

So what's the best warmup at Millbrook? Most people go for Westward Ha! (5.7) or Cruise Control (5.9-) for their first few routes, but Wade and I were itchy to climb and we had cool, crisp October conditions so we headed straight for Bank Shot (5.11+/12-). [Wes Converse and I got on this route a few years ago, when we hiked up from Bob’s house on North Mountain Road (in July...in flip-flops...bad idea). In what ended up as the hottest, nastiest day of the year, I sweated through the first 5.10 R pitch, Wes got into the crux on the second pitch and thought it was "hard for 5.10" and climbed some 5.9+ horror-show lichen instead, and we finished the route and hiked off to the Trapps bridge to hitch home in a downpour. But that's another story...] I had never tried the crux pitch, so we rapped in and belayed from the top of the first pitch.

What fantastic climbing! Nice corners and cracks pinch down to a steep, arching shallow corner with a fierce crux and great protection. I climbed up on sharp crimps and fiddled in a poorly-placed nut above my head, and climbed down to test it. When yanking on the rope, it pulled halfway out of the crack but couldn't be cleaned from such tenuous holds, so I ended up leaving it and trying to climb higher. I popped off moments later and was shocked when it held! I managed the crux after that, and Wade followed, showing me some refined beta.

Next we moved over to A Lesson in History (5.10), a Gunks modern classic and one of the best long 5.10s in the East. A linkup of previously climbed terrain, LIH manages a reasonable grade and sufficient protection in the middle of a wall of runout 5.11s and 5.12s. Wade led us through three pitches of spectacular, exposed terrain on (mostly) good rock.

It's difficult to tell how often a route like this has been climbed; while not a popular cliff by any means, this is still a mega-classic of the region and a considerable number of the climbers visiting Millbrook are already probably competent 5.10 leaders (in the Trapps at least). I would venture it has been done a few hundred times. Still, loose rock is not absent from the route, and if you're like me and enjoy picking at loose-looking pieces, you can definitely find some stuff to send down. 

The skies were looking a little dismal, and after we topped out we felt a fine mist start to fall from the sky. Whew, guess it's time to call it a day! I relax as soon as I have a reason to back out of going back over the edge and finding another route. We only climbed five pitches but felt like a solid day was had! The return trip is a quick, though uphill-both-way kind of bike ride, with the requisite stop at Patterson's Pellet. The view over the Palmaghatt Ravine was astonishing; the colors there were the brightest we had yet seen at this point in the fall. Back in the parking lot we were impressed by the number of visitors packed into the upper lot. We had seen only a few hikers up to that point in the day.

While climbing A Lesson in History, I continuously stared at the finishing corner of the route New Frontier. Established by Jim McCarty and Ants Leemets in 1962 and rated A4, later freed at 5.11 by Gary Brown and John Stannard in 1969, New Frontier remains a bold venture into the most exposed section of the wildest cliff around. I was awestruck; the more I tried to crane my neck and decipher the line, the less I understood. The combination of crazy angles, buttresses and corners hanging in the air was disorienting, and I realized the only way to fathom it was to climb it.

The next month was spent obsessing over a route that I knew little about. I was consumed by the line itself, and the history surrounding it (see Christian Fracchia's great article on the route here), but actively avoided information about the moves or protection. I knew it used to be rated 5.11-, but that a more modern rating of 5.11 R had been attached in recent years. I was told a fall from the crux would slap a leader onto a slab of rock twenty feet below before the rope had a chance to slow them down. Now, I like safe climbing as much as the next guy, so the thought of my ankles exploding on a route at Millbrook didn't sound like a fun day out. But I couldn't shake it, I felt like I had to climb it. I concluded that I had a greater chance of success if I focused on developing two skills - hanging on for a really long time, and keeping cool above my gear. I prepared by trying to climb only routes which challenged me on these fronts.

The next time I returned to Millbrook was on November 5th. The sky was cloudy, and the air was cool and still as Wade and I rappelled to try Bank Shot again. I felt calmer than last time, with some of the mystery removed, but fell again at the end of the crux. Wade lowered me back to the belay and I pulled the rope. Standing there in the quiet, open space, we laughed and schemed over future climbing plans. The cliff looked broad-shouldered and benevolent. I went back up, and finished the lead without falling.

Packed up on top, I feigned confidence and suggested to go over to "take a look" at New Frontier. In reality I felt like vomiting. Wade pointed out a few bikes and climbing packs stashed near the rappel point: "I think those belong to Ryan and Silas." Ryan Stefiuk and Silas Rossi are two remarkable guides and some of the East's most accomplished climbers, and I swung down our rappel line to find them halfway up Lessons in History. "Hey there, boys!" I yelled, as I barged onto Silas' small belay stance. "Mind if I squeeze in?" Silas graciously made room, and a few minutes later four grown men were trying to share a ledge three feet long and six inches deep.

We laughed. A few minutes in the company of such strong, competent climbers took the edge off my anxiety, and I peeked up at the corner of New Frontier. It didn't look as big and daunting as it had a month before, and in fact, there were more features than I had noticed last time. Silas and Ryan quickly dispatched the second pitch of Lessons, and Wade put me on belay as I started tiptoeing up higher.

The rock was impeccable. The movement, once deciphered, was both physical and flowing. The protection was... sufficient. Seconds stretched on, and then I found myself above the crux in the upper tiered corner of New Frontier. I was hunched over and cramped under an overhang, my calves aching and shoulder scumming against rock, and I couldn't have been happier. I turned to see Silas working up the last pitch of Lessons, and cheered him on. I had dreamed of being in this place, this weird little 60' section of rock, for so long. I worked up slowly, savoring the incredible position.

I topped out, and let out a embarrassingly high-pitched "Woo-hoo!" I felt so much relief, along with surprise at how easy it had felt. I had prepared, probably over-prepared, and the climbing had been dreamier than I imagined. I anchored to the trees far back from the edge and belayed Wade up. I craned my neck to look back under the overhangs, trying to watch my friend move through the radical feature. He styled it (as usual).

The day was rounded out by showing Ryan and Silas the last pitch of Bank Shot, a worthwhile pitch on its own. It follows a crack and face system up to a unique overhang / chimney, which must be escaped at an odd constriction and is rated 5.9/5.10 (consensus is still a rare thing at Millbrook). Ryan led the route and I hung from another line, trying to capture this gem of a pitch in a photo.

We lingered long at the top of the route, an open slab of bone white rock. The weather was mild and there were still a few hours before the sun would set. It was a rare moment of repose with three friends who tend to always be on the move. I admire each of them as individuals, and as corny as it sounds, it was really nice to be able to just sit still for a while and shoot the shit with some great people. After a while we rose and headed back towards Lake Minnewaska, Silas and Ryan biking on the carriage road and Wade and I hoofing it on the trail, a pleasant hike to round out another stellar day climbing at Millbrook.

The funny thing is, the month leading up to that day had been the best stretch of climbing I'd ever had. It was a "not the destination but the journey" type of season; I challenged myself on runout routes, cragged hard, soloed some things I never thought I would, climbed a new (?) route in the Trapps, and even bouldered harder than I had before. All of this was done with some great friends, during perfect autumn weather, in heart-breakingly beautiful settings just a few miles from my house. We're truly lucky in this little corner of the world, where the forests are deep and Millbrook is king.

Make sure to check out Christian Fracchia's EXCELLENT guidebook selection for the Gunks and beyond at https://gunksapps.com

Be sure to also check out Silas' website for his guide service Alpine Logic, he's also got some great tech tips and interesting videos:  http://alpine-logic.com 

Thanks to both of those guys for letting me use their photos and being such awesome climbing partners!